


My Poor Heart

by schrodingers__cat



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I wrote this during a long car ride, Second person POV, although I’m not sure how to feel about deltarune toriel tbh, im very tired, is that a thing?, i’m making it a thing, perspective study, poor goat mom, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:38:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrodingers__cat/pseuds/schrodingers__cat
Summary: You have everything you’ve ever wanted.





	My Poor Heart

**Author's Note:**

> _I need to rest my poor heart_   
> 

You’re young when you’re married to the monster of your dreams. (Or so you think)  
You’re young, and you’re happy, and your best friends are all there, and your bouquet was grown for you by hand.  
It’s not long before you have the teaching job you’ve coveted, and he starts working on the papers for his flower shop. (He gives away more flowers than he sells, but you think it’s endearing.)

You’re still young when you have your son. It’s surely the best day of your life.  
You’re finally getting everything you’ve always wanted.  
You name him Asriel. Cheesy, you know—but just look at the Holidays. 

He’s everything you ever dreamed, and you’re _happy._

You’re older now. Your son is in second grade. He’s still in your elementary class, but you can feel the future looming.  
You’re the sole provider for your family. (He still gives away more flowers than he sells. It’s getting frustrating.)

Your life is turned upside-down by a sad little child your son finds, small and alone. They look up at you with a too-thin gaze and cherry-wood eyes. Asriel mouths _please._

You melt. 

Kris is _your child_ within a month. They’re a little odd, but they’re human, what did you expect?  
You know that they like cinnamon over butterscotch without even having to ask, and you take it as fate.  
They don’t get along all that well with the other children—they’re quiet and shy and new to the social hierarchy, with a tendency towards bluntness and oddities. But they and Azzy are attached by the hip from day one, so you’re sure they’ll be fine.

You’re sure everything will be fine.

(He gives away too many flowers. You’d thought it was kindhearted, once. Now, it seems foolish. You have two children to provide for on a teacher’s salary, and he isn’t strong enough to say _no._ )

Your shouting frightens your children. You’d never been quiet, and you’d always made your opinions heard, but this was different.  
And your children had never heard their father shout before.  
They heard it almost daily, now.

They aren’t home as often. They spend most of their time at the diner, or the lake.  
You watch them cling to each other. Sometimes emotions spill over and crack to pieces and they bicker and argue and throw pillows and toys. But they alway go back to each other. (You wish they didn’t have to go through this.)  
You try and forget the terror that’s sometimes in their eyes. Terror that had no place there, terror that said _I’m afraid to lose you too (again?)._

(When you finally separate, he takes his flowers with him. You never thought you’d be glad to see them go, but your glass-encased bouquet had felt like a mausoleum for far too long.)

Your mother’s instincts are frazzled and sparking like loose wires. Kris had always been prone to nightmares, but this one had left them screaming, raw and wild, cherry-wood eyes wide. You tried to pull them into your arms like you always had, but they pushed you away. _Don’t hurt me—please, not again, I can’t take it again—please, Mom, don’t—_  
You let your arms fall in horror, and Asriel jumps up from his bed and gathers Kris to him. The look he gives you is cold. He’s never looked at you like that before, but it’s familiar anyway.  
(You’ve never felt so useless.)

You’re promoted to an administration position at the school. You accept, but keep teaching as well. You’re able to take care of your children on your own. It’s a good feeling.

Asriel leaves when Kris is thirteen, and you feel like you’re losing them both. 

You used to know what to do.

A skeleton owns the new grocery store. You go out to buy sliced cheese, eggs, and chocolate. You talk to him with the ease of old friends while he scans your purchases. You need all your willpower to stop yourself from pulling out your considerable repertoire of bone puns. Surely that would be rude? (Even if his goat puns were glorious.)

Kris is sixteen, and you’re... getting old. You get a call from your coworker Alphys, saying that Kris and another student had left to get chalk, and never came back. (Little Susie... you used to bring her candies when she was in your class. She’d liked Asriel’s superhero comics, and she preferred butterscotch.)  
You’re worried. You’re worried _sick._ You’re not angry, though you think you should be. But Kris has never skipped class before, and never shown any inclination to want to.  
You’re certain something’s happened. But for the life of you, you can’t think of _what._ Your mind reaches for the worst-case scenario every time. 

You call them every five minutes. Then every ten. Fifteen. Half hour. Hour. The sun starts setting. 

A call finally goes through at six-thirty pm, and you breathe a sigh of relief—before that relief immediately surges into fury. _Ah. That’s when the anger comes._ You threaten punishment, but they say they were with a friend, and you stop cold in your tracks—you can’t bear to punish that. Kris hasn’t had a friend since Asriel left. 

When they come home, you’ve moved on. Your hands still shake, but you’re chilling pie crust dough in the refrigerator, and you’re riveted by a book about the fossilized snail shells that were found up north. 

There’s a lot you don’t notice, that night. 

(Someday, you’ll wonder how you got to that point. How you lost such an important part of yourself.)

But you can’t shake an ominous feeling. You can’t even quite describe it. It’s... like a headache from barometric pressure—there’s a change in the weather coming, and you probably won’t like it.

That night, you dream of a child’s hand in your own and a too-heavy crown on your head. It fills you with an awful, wrenching _longing._

You wonder why. You have everything you ever wanted.

* _You should be excited._

* _You should be happy._

* _You’re finally free._

**Author's Note:**

> Deltarune’s universe (whatever it is) on the surface kind of seems like Toriel’s dream life. She’s a teacher, has both of her children, and divorces Asgore. I feel like this might... blind her, somewhat, to whatever’s going on. She hasn’t learned the same hard lessons that Undertale’s Toriel did.


End file.
